


Pro Patria Mori

by escapedreality



Category: The Book Thief - Markus Zusak
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, American Revolution, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Vietnam, War, draft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6730402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escapedreality/pseuds/escapedreality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the old men who start wars for the young ones to die in. Rudy and Liesel through the ages and through the wars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pro Patria Mori

**Author's Note:**

> This book tears at my soul and I love it. I feel as though the child-like innocence of children caught up in war is a much broader theme that I wanted to expand on. And apologies for the focus on American conflicts but that's mostly where my knowledge lies. All AU obviously (including WWII because I had to fix it).

**Part One**  
The Old Lie

 **Himmel Street, Molching, 1943**.

_"Come on, Rudy, come on, Jesse Owens, don't you know I love you, wake up, wake up, wake up!"_

**Schleswig, Denmark, 1864**

Hans Hubermann considered himself Danish because his wife was and because frankly, it was usually best not to argue with her. So when he took in little Liesel Meminger from Hamburg, he spoke the slippery Danish language they spoke in town. She took to it quickly, with the ease only children possess, sliding into Danishness like a fish through water.

He took her to Copenhagen one year, for her eleventh birthday, to hear the beautiful waltzes play at Tivoli Gardens. Liesel surreptitiously picked flowers from the Gardens, hiding them in her dress to dry and keep in her room at home. She marveled as she caught a glimpse of the King and Queen outside of Amalienborg Palace, drinking in every detail of their finery to tell Mama later.

Rudy would tell her to please, please shut up.

Frau Holtzapfel hated the Hubermanns for their Danishness, constantly saying how she would move to Hamburg by the end of the year. Of course she's been saying this for several years now without moving more than two feet from her front door.

But both of Frau Holtzapfel's sons were in the Prussian army and they came knocking on Denmark's door not so long after Alex Steiner had been pushed back to Fyn with the rest of the Danish army.

Rudy Steiner cursed the Prussians often and loudly and never in German, although he was an exceptionally clever boy in school who had the patience to teach Liesel how to read. He had brought his one battered, well read copy of fairy tales by a different Hans that his father had sent from Copenhagen years ago and that had been passed down through the many Steiner children. They had spent the summer sitting on the border of the Hubermann and Steiner farms, practicing.

In 1864, Hans Hubermann sighed and began speaking German again, and Liesel shrugged and put back on the Prussian identity she was born with. Alex Steiner never returned from Fyn.

Liesel found Rudy sitting in a tree that bordered the Hubermann's and Steiner's farms, where she had spent many a day learning to read. The boy hopped down. He was thin and bony and his shock of yellow hair only glowed more in the bright sun. He watched her approach, thin in the way that young girls are, like foals who haven't quite learned to stand on their legs. Liesel, with her German name and German blood who reminisced about Tivoli and quoted Hans Christian Anderson. Her parents-her new parents- were as Danish as he was but his father was dead and he just can't breathe. He handed Liesel a well worn book of fairy tales.

By the time 1865 showed, Liesel was Prussian and reading Danish fairy tales, and Rudy Steiner was gone.

**Concord, Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1773**

The quiet boy that worked in Papa's stables didn't look like much of a threat to Elizabeth. His hair was soft and feathery and his manner gentle. Only his eyes gave away any sort of passion.

He had come from Boston in the middle of the night and Papa had fixed him up in Elizabeth's room without so much as a thought. Elizabeth had clutched her blankets to her chin to cover her nightgown and didn't sleep a minute with the strange man sleeping on the floor of her room.

Elizabeth had confronted Papa about it the next morning, abandoning the laundry Mama had given her to run catch up to Papa before he went into town. He had treated her as he always had, as an equal, and hoisted her up to her favorite horse, Nellie, explaining along the road to the town center.

The boy's name was Max and Papa owed his father a favor, from long ago when he'd fought the French. He explained the soldiers that roamed around Boston and explained that some very angry men had dumped tea in the harbor. Elizabeth interrupted,

"Is that why Mama always complains?" she asked. Papa laughed. Rose Hubermann daily groused as she added fragrant leaves to warm water to brew her tea substitute. To make matters worse, Mrs. Hermann still received imports of British tea straight from England, her husband a rich and avid supporter of the King. The mere mention of the woman was enough to send Rose into a tirade.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"Did Max dump the tea?"

"I, well I don't know 'Beth, but he supports the men who did it and that's why he is hiding from King George's army. The man he apprenticed for in Boston is loyal to the crown and thinks Max is a traitor for what he says about the King."

"He doesn't look like a traitor."

"He doesn't think of himself as one either. He calls himself a patriot."

Papa helped her down, unhooking her skirt that had gotten caught in the saddle. "Are you a patriot, Papa?" she asked.

"I believe," he started, mulling his thoughts over. "I believe that it is wrong that England does not view us as equals. I believe that we should be able to send someone to Parliament to tell the King what we want. But I think there may be a more peaceful manner in which to accomplish these goals."

"I think that makes you a patriot then-"

"'Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth was cut off by a gangly Rudy Steiner, a childhood and family friend of the Hubermann's. His father owned the tailor shop in Concord's center and he'd just begun his apprenticeship there. He slid to a stop in front of the Hubermanns.

"Oh, Mr. Hubermann, sorry to interrupt, may I please borrow Miss Hubermann for a moment?" he asked rushed, a slow flush crawling across his face.

"Of course Mr. Steiner," Papa said. Rudy stood slightly taller at that and Papa smiled knowingly. "I'll be back shortly, 'Beth."

"Hello," the blond boy said, shuffling his feet.

"Can I help you Mr. Steiner?"

"Mr. Steiner?" Rudy mocked. "'Beth, my father's Mr. Steiner." Elizabeth huffed, crossing her arms tightly around her.

"Mama said that Mrs. Holtzpfel told her I ought to behave like a lady now that I'm thirteen," she admitted sheepishly. Rudy tried to keep back a snort of laughter but failed miserably. Elizabeth smacked his arm, "It's not amusing!"

"'Beth, it is a bit. Don't you still have a pair of breeches we stole from Curt? Besides you don't need to listen to what some Tory woman thinks is appropriate, I believe your Mama will not let you grow up as anything less than proper," Rudy assured her. He reached in his bag, the red flush crawling across his pale skin once again as he held out a worn book. "This is the reason I came, an ah- associate of mine had this book and although literature is not my preference, I remember it was one of your peculiar passions."

Elizabeth, who'd been filing away Rudy's derisive mention of "that Tory woman" grinned widely, "Thank you, Rudy! I've read the poem collection so many times I can nearly recite them all by heart. Papa look what Rudy found for me!" she said, showing the book off as Papa returned.

"What a thoughtful gift."

"Yes, well, I best be going," Rudy stammered, quickly scurrying back to his father's shop. Papa helped Elizabeth back up.

"I think young Mr. Steiner fancies you, 'Beth," he whispered conspiratorially.

"Papa!"

.

Elizabeth hadn't even noticed Max had disappeared until he returned again. Rudy tapped on her window lightly. Her candle was still burning at the end, and she was hunched over, rereading a book from her meager collection again. She glanced up wildly, startled. Rudy pointed toward the stables, his pale complexion washed out in the poor light emitting from her room.

She grabbed her shoes and put on a coat over her nightgown, favoring modesty over coolness in the warm June night. She tiptoed past her parents room in her stockings and put on her shoes once she cleared the door, taking off at a clip to the barn. Rudy was waiting for her, arms crossed and clothes a mess. He had grown much taller in the past two years, slowly starting to fill out his boyish frame. His face cut sharp angles in the faint moonlight and his voice was deep when he spoke,

"Now, don't be angry."

"Angry? Rudy, what in the heavens-"

The door creaked only slightly when he opened it. Inside, laying against a half a bale of hay was Max, accompanied by a young man she recognized as his friend, Walter. Max glanced up, his feathery hair matted and stiff like twigs. As Rudy set down the lantern she realized what matted it was blood, dark and red. His left shirt sleeve was covered in it, as were Rudy's pants and Walter's hands.

"Hello, 'Beth," Max breathed through his teeth.

"What in God's name is going on here!" she whispered furiously.

"We were in Boston," started Walter but Elizabeth interrupted.

"Boston? That's miles away and after the past few months in Concord and," she paused, realization dawning. Glancing she noticed a two rifles laying in the corner, partially covered by the other half of the hay bale.

"We were at Breed's Hill," Rudy said quietly, "Dr. Prescott has been in contact with Max since he rounded up the militia in April. We inflicted plenty of injuries on them, though it's lucky we came away as unscathed as we did. We cared for him as best we could in Walter's sister's house; she's ambivalent at least, if not fully supportive of the cause. We set off back home as soon as we could manage."

Elizabeth was infuriated. It tingled through her body and the anger she felt toward the boys faded to mere annoyance, while rage surged toward the British. Max's shallow breathing crystallized the cause Rudy had been going on about for years. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she turned her attention back to the situation at hand.

"Right, right. Walter, I need you to run to the Hermann's house. On the third windowsill on the left, leave a note for Mrs. Hermann. Just sign it with an X and my name, understood?"

Walter nodded and moved to pick up his weapon. "Leave that!" Elizabeth said, more shrilly than intended. He rushed outside, leaping onto his horse and disappearing in a cloud of dust.

.

Max had passed out when the doctor pulled the bullet out of his arm and hadn't woken up since. That was three weeks ago.

His hair was like feathers again after a surprisingly gentle washing by Mama, but it gave a false impression as to his health. He stirred infrequently, barely cooperating as Elizabeth diligently provided water. It was part of her now daily routine. She would wake, help Mama with her washing, and go visit Nellie in the stables. Then she would take her position by Max's beside, reading to him and telling him stories from town. Occasionally Rudy would stop by, more often Walter, giving updates on the British movements in the city of Boston.

She would go to town with Papa, to deliver the washing and collect money. Each time she dropped off the Mayor's, his wife would answer the door and say nothing. Elizabeth wanted to thank her for sending the doctor but each time she remained quiet, only accepting the money before moving on.

.

It was five days later, as Elizabeth made her rounds, that Mama came rushing into town on Nellie, her squat frame bouncing as Nellie came to a rough halt. Alarmed, Elizabeth rushed over to help her down.

"Mama? Is something wrong? What happened, is Papa okay?" she asked in a rush of worry. Mama raised her hand, trying to catch her breath. Then in a whisper:

"He's awake. Max is awake!" she said. Elizabeth engulfed her mother in a fierce hug and in her moment of joy, shoved the laundry into her mother's arms.

"I have to go do something."

.

Mrs. Hermann answered the door in her gentle and slow manner. Elizabeth held no washing and as she took a breath to address her, the older woman simply opened her door wider and gestured the young girl in.

The house was grander than Elizabeth remembered and she felt inadequate in her worn dress. She hadn't had a new one in over a year and the siege of Boston made it nearly impossible. Mrs. Hermann wore a soft house dress, walking only in stocking feet into the sitting room.

"Can I get you some tea?" she asked, a vague hint of embarrassment coloring the end of her sentence. Elizabeth's heart tightened quickly in a brief moment of anger as she though about Mama and her flavorless leaf-water. But remembering her purpose here, she gracefully accepted

Cupping the warm drink, she met the Mrs. Hermann's eyes.

"Thank you."

The phrase was so simple, but Elizabeth felt the pressure release from her chest. It had been there so long she had become accustomed to the weight, not realizing how heavy it was. Mrs. Hermann gave a small smile.

"Did you enjoy Mr. Steiner's book?" she asked, her voice warbling. Elizabeth snapped her head up.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hermann?" she said, slightly confused. Mrs. Hermann let out an honest giggle.

"I saw him debating with himself, and I remembered when you came here with your Mama as a young girl and marveled at the book I'd left on the table. And oh, if Rudy didn't remind me of my own son..." she reminisced, letting the sentence die off as her brain seemed to catch up with the words she said.

"I never knew you had a son," Elizabeth said.

"Oh you wouldn't have. He passed away years ago. The Seven Year's War. He wasn't much of a fighter, he loved his books too much. And with the chaos in Boston, if only all boys loved their books more."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement and rested a tentative hand upon Mrs. Hermann's.

Max had just woken up and Rudy was raging against the King and Mr. Hermann was looking into moving out of the colonies. But for a moment, the Loyalist wife and the young new Patriot, sat in still, agreeing, silence.

.

With her cup of tea long since gone, Elizabeth made her gracious exit from the Mayor's grand house, took two slow steps before setting off at a run down the road to the Steiner's tailor shop. Rudy's father was at the counter, preparing to close as she skidded in.

"Elizabeth, what a lovely surprise," he greeted her, a smile cutting across his long features. Elizabeth paused a moment, trying somewhat in vain to catch her breath.

"Terribly sorry it's so late but is Rudy here?" she managed in a whoosh of words. For a moment, a whole lifetime of emotion roiled across Alex Steiner's face like a passing summer storm. Then, simple sadness replaced it.

"'Beth," he said slowly. At 15, the only ones who still called her that with any regularity were her Papa and Rudy. The moment she heard her childhood nickname, she was out the door in a shot.

.

Max was awake. And holding a sealed letter, which sat limply in his hands like an apology.

The letter began  _Beth_. The letter ended  _Rudy,_ his chaotic scrawl smudged by traitorous tears that soaked her face, her sleeve and Max's shoulder when he gently removed the paper from her hands.

**Minnesota, USA, 1970**

School ended on a Tuesday afternoon. Friday morning Rudy Steiner was supposed to pick up Lisa Meminger at her house, then Tommy Muller and Sally Moore to head to Max Vandenberg's lake-house for a celebratory weekend.

Wednesday at noon the draft notice arrived.

Little Betty ran into his room and jumped on his bed. "Rudy has a letter, Rudy has a letter!" Rudy groaned and took it from her hand. Mama was out with Emma and he was supposed to be babysitting but he'd just graduated from high school and sleeping his summer away seemed like the better alternative.

He glanced at the return address on the letter. All his plans for the weekend- setting up Tommy and Sally, begging Curt to buy him alcohol, and with a little liquid courage, getting a kiss from his best friend- came screeching to a halt.

It wasn't that he hadn't thought about the possibility. He and Lisa had watched the news talk about the shootings a Kent State curled up on the Hubermann's couch a month ago. And Max had given the keys over to his lake-house because he was off being ordained a rabbi, his newest way of hiding from the draft before it could try to get him now that he had finished his master's degree.

It's more that Rudy never truly considered the possibility it would happen to him.

He quickly dressed, gave Betty the rest of the Hershey bar he'd been saving and told her stay put. In direct defiance of his mother's instructions, he even promised his youngest sister she could watch cartoons. Then he rounded out the door, shoes half-tied, sprinting down the street to number 33. He was fast, the best in his year at sprints and had won the state in the decathlon too. His family and the Hubermann's had all come to watch. Lisa had been wearing her blond hair pulled back with her signature bow.

After his win, a small college down in Georgia had sent him letters, as had another in California, and two in Florida. But he was a northern boy and homebody at heart and forewent athletics for the much shorter drive to Wisconsin. He was regretting his decision with every passing moment.

He came to stop in front of the Hubermann's house, barely out of breath and rapped on the door.

"Saukerl, why are you banging like that?" Lisa answered, half her hair tied into rags.

"I- what is up with you hair saumensch?" Rudy asked, sidetracked.

The foreign words rolled unaccented and flat off their tongues, despite frequent use. Three years ago, Lisa had visited Rosa's mother in Wisconsin, a delightful old German woman who took it upon herself to teach Lisa the essentials of the German language. The friends had taken it upon themselves to use the German people's best swear words as terms of affection. It didn't really matter if they pronounced them correctly, who else was going to hear them?

Lisa scowled, self-consciously untying the strips of cloth. "Sally said it would make it big and curly. I wanted to for this weekend...the lake, um-" she explained, face red with embarrassment. The other half of her hair sat thin and straight against her face, blonde strands tangled in her eyelashes. "But what did you want?"

Rudy looked away from his best friend's eyelashes and his panic came rushing back. "Right, it's um, this," he said shoving the draft card in front of him, an unwelcome lump rising in his throat. Lisa read it quickly and frowned.

"Don't worry about it, we're going college in September- you'll get a deferment," she said assuredly, with a sense of confidence she only used when speaking to him, always sure it was her not him who was right.

"Yeah but still, it's so, real."

A sigh, "Yeah it is."

Their thoughts both jumped to Max, who hadn't heard from his friend Walter for months after he was drafted and watched the news in abject panic until Walter waltzed back into town with two bullets in his ass and a missing middle finger. He still always tried to flip people off with his injured hand, laughing at himself every time. Max smacked him every time he did it, scolding that it wasn't funny and that provoking the anti-war rallies in front of city hall was foolish. Walter would squeeze his shoulder reassuringly until Max cracked a smile. It was routine.

Suddenly, Rudy grinned, thinking of Walter's comforting hand on Max's shoulder. "So, how about a kiss for a brave young man off to war?" Lisa rolled her eyes, lightly smacking his waiting face away as she had many times before when he joked with her. She never realized how seriously he meant it.

"You're not going! I'm always right. But if, which is again unlikely, but if you have one foot on the bus, maybe then I'll reconsider."

.

Lisa missed the bus.

.

A week before school was scheduled to start, and a week after Rudy's deferment was denied, they were back at Max's house, just off the lake's shore. Lisa and Rudy sat on the roof, passing a lukewarm beer between the two of them. Lisa's long legs, less knobby than in her youth, stretched out in front of her, bruised and scabbed from a summer of street soccer. Rudy's lean and sun-darkened legs of a runner matched.

Tommy and Sally were down by the water, the former avoiding Rudy after he'd snapped at him on the drive to the lake. Tommy's deferment as a result of his twitching was granted. They still weren't talking and Sally had dragged Tommy away in an effort to ease the tension.

"Saukerl," Lisa scolded. Rudy huffed, blowing a long strand of lemon yellow hair out of his face. He'd refused to cut it all summer in defiance of the draft notice hanging over his head. It constantly fell in his eyes and was a bother but Rudy was stubborn. He was eighteen and wanted to go play sports on the University of Wisconsin's quad, not be at boot camp. Lisa had been hiding her excitement about her English courses all week and he felt rotten but the irrational anger he held was just that, irrational.

"When do you leave?" she asked. Rudy shrugged and opened another beer, handing it to Lisa. He laid back with his knees drawn up, looking through the leafy cover to the blue sky beyond. Lisa accepted the beer, taking a swig and making a face. She didn't care much for the taste but enjoyed the feeling of the alcohol buzzing through her veins.

"Rudy..." she prompted again.

"Maybe I won't, maybe I'll swim across to Canada."

"You're no swimmer. You run alright."

Rudy sat up slightly on his forearms, reaching out to punch her lightly in the arm. "I'm a great all around athlete. All American. And, uh, two weeks."

A genuine smile crossed Lisa's face, and she leaned back next her best friend, turning on her side to face him. "Then I'll come back to see you off! I'll need to anyway, I won't be able to fit everything in Papa's car in one trip. Plus I'll need to get your address to write."

Rudy stared at her, willing himself to close the six inches between them. Her hair had become tangled in her eyelashes again and he longed to brush it away and cup her face to pull it towards him. Instead, he nodded.

"Yeah, saumensch, that'd be great."

.

When Lisa arrived at the bus station two weeks later, no one was there. Alex Steiner later informed her, with a sad smile, that she missed him by two days.

.

Lisa wrote her first letter, no greeting or farewell, just "You're an arschloch." She sent it through angry tears and spent the next 2 months waiting for response. She never got one. Not then, nor to any of the other letters she wrote, detailing everything from her grandmother to school to Max and the lake house. Even though Lisa can't remember the last time Mama took her to church, she visited the synagogue a town over from where she grew up and railed about her saukerl of friend to Max and God.

Two and half years of sending letters and she gave up writing. And two weeks before her third year is over, her mama called her with a deadly calm voice, too calm to be good news, like she was willing herself to hold it together. Then Mama whispered the dreaded words "you need to come home". Lisa's stomach sunk and a gut wrenching scream crawled from her throat, waking her roommate and her neighbors, who came to investigate the source of the noise and found a disheveled Lisa sitting on the floor, whimpering about a something called a _saukerl_.

A dorky kid called Schmeikl, who lived in the corner room at the end of the hall, decided this would be the appropriate time to spout his anti-war rhetoric. Schmeikl is pale and soft with horn-rimmed glasses that rest unevenly on his nose. Lisa left him with two black eyes and nearly broke his jaw before an exasperated resident director came running down the hall to break it up. Lisa wiped the blood away from her split lip and brushed her hair out of her eyes. In the back of her mind, she could hear Rudy cheering her on.

.

She steadfastly avoided the coffin at the wake, but despite her best efforts, caught a glimpse of his hair. It's short, high and tight like the rest of his platoon, and the comforting lemon brilliance is gone. It's dull, it's wrong, it makes her want to puke. Mama had to drag her to the funeral the next day.

She arrived with curls falling flat, bruised legs, and a crushed beer can. When no one was looking she buried the can among the bouquets next to the headstone. Her hair fell around her face and a few thin strands tangled in her eyelashes. She pulled a worn photograph from her pocket-found with his personal possessions- and moved to leave it with the battered can. She wanted to leave it but on the left hand edge, Rudy is smirking. It's not a laugh or a smile but typical of the saukerl. Liesel herself takes up the majority of the frame, laughing at some unknown off camera. He had kept it in his helmet, right next to a photo of the whole Steiner clan.

Hands shaking terribly, she slid it back into the pocket of her jeans.

.

One year later, the U.S. makes a hasty retreat out of Vietnam and Lisa graduates from college. She enjoys the accolades and celebration from her family and friends for the afternoon before hitching a ride back to a house on a Minnesota lake. She pulls out an unsent letter to Pvt. Rudy Steiner and burns it with the Zippo lighter he had left her, Max sitting next as silent support.

 _God damnit Rudy, you saukerl, I owe you kiss. Come back to me so I can give it to you. Please. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, please. Love, your saumensch_.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and Part titles from Wilfred Owen's WWI poem "Dulce et Decorum Est". First section dealing with Molching is pulled directly from the Book Thief.


End file.
